By Andrea Rouda
I clearly remember, as a child, that when we had a leaky faucet in our kitchen or bathroom, my father, no handyman by anyone’s definition, would go to the hardware store, pick up a few different-sized washers, and fix it in no time. Those days are definitely not these days, as I found out when our bathroom faucet started leaking.
Drip, drip, drip. Nothing too bad, but we understood that in time it would worsen and since the bathroom is adjacent to our bedroom, the dripping was destined to keep us up all night, and soon. A plumber was called.
The request from the plumber was the name and model number of the faucet so he could order the parts needed. Parts? How many, I wondered. Anyway, I assured him that I did not have that information as the faucet was installed about 10 years ago and all the pertinent paperwork was long gone. A call to the manufacturer was suggested.
That call took the better part of an hour. Finally I got through to Vicente in customer service, who promised he could help. First he asked if the hot water or the cold water was leaking. I had to say I didn’t know. Then I had to take picture of the faucet so he could find out which parts would fit. Email would work, he said. Then he gave me his email address, which was very long and foreign, with him saying, “V like in Victor, I like in Isadora, N like in Nancy, C like in Carol, E like in Edward,” for the whole damn thing. It took forever because his last name was really long and so was the name of the service provider. I was sweating by the time he finished.
After Vicente got my photos he called me back to give me the parts numbers, which were roughly 16 characters each. After struggling to write them down I suggested he email them to me. He agreed that would work. Now I’m hoping the plumber, a very nice young millennial, can handle the job. Who knew putting in a new washer would be such a big deal?
—Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.